A Trick of the Lights
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: With some help from his friends (and a little jealousy) Sherlock realises something at Molly's birthday party. This is a two shot. Enjoy!
1. The Party

_So recently my computer had a little meltdown and for a while I thought I'd lost everything. EVERYTHING! And let me just tell you, I have a frighting amount of unfinished stories on it. Well, needless to say, my loving and gallant husband came to my rescue. He did some sort of magic trick and saved all of my documents then got me a new operating system. Once it was back up and running I started going back and looking at my unfinished fics. I found this one which was basically done, just needed edited. So here you go. Big thanks to MizJoely for beting it for me._

 _It's a 2 shot!_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy. ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Party**

It was a trick of the lights, it had to be. Nothing else explained why Molly Hooper looked so... _beautiful_.

NO! No, Sherlock Holmes didn't use words like beautiful. It simply didn't happen. But every time he looked across the room at the pathologist, poetic descriptors kept popping around her face.

 _Stunning..._

 _Exuberant..._

 _Radiant..._

Simply fucking _Lovely!_

Why? Was he drunk? He'd only had one scotch. He looked down at the drink in his hands. Okay, _half_ of a scotch. Had he been drugged? He cataloged his symptoms. Racing pulse, slightly elevated temperature - which could be attributed to the amount of people in the pub. _Why did she insist on having a birthday party at a pub? She's a grown woman, for God's sake! Back to my symptoms._ Laboured breathing, dry mouth... Oh yes, definitely drugged. It was the only possibility, because if not... that meant... _Nope! Not even considering the other option._

He suddenly felt a friendly hand patting his back. "Enjoyin' the view?" the voice of DI Lestrade asked.

"There's not much to look at, Grayson. No crimes, so far." He took a large drink. "But one can hope. And judging by the neighbourhood, it can be expected."

Greg moved to stand closer to the consulting detective and said, "I was talking about our birthday girl. You were staring." Then he chuckled.

Sherlock glared at the older man considering all the ways he could kill him at the moment. "I wasn't, actually. Why on earth would I be staring at Molly Hooper, of all people?"

Lestrade turned and looked at the petite woman across the room, who was laughing and talking to a group of nurses and a couple of Yarders. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because she looks bloody spectacular in that sexy little dress and heels."

As Lestrade licked his lips, still staring at Molly, Sherlock thought about slamming his head into the pillar that was only about a foot away. "Mallory couldn't make it this evening, I see."

Greg turned to Sherlock. "You remember my wife's name?"

"Yes, you should remember that you have one. Perhaps this marriage will last a bit longer than your previous ill-fated union. Although, if you continue to ogle my pathologist, I can guarantee, you'll suffer yet another divorce."

Greg laughed so loudly several patrons turned and looked at the pair. Finally he collected himself. "It's not me you should be worried about, Sherlock. It's Patrick." He pointed toward the group gathered around Molly. Sherlock instantly zeroed in on a ginger haired young officer to her left. He had one hand on her back and was whispering in her ear.

"What makes you think I'm worried about Molly's love life? I was trying to save you..."

"Come off it!" Greg interrupted. "You're jealous."

Sherlock froze. He felt himself flush as he stared at the DI in total disbelief. He had only just... no, he wouldn't even allow his mind consider the possibility that he found Molly Hooper... attractive. He quickly schooled himself. "Leave the deductions to me, Gavin," Sherlock said as he stalked off to find John Watson, and hopefully some decent conversation.

He did find John. He found him chatting with his wife and Mike Stamford.

"Ah, there you are. Where've you been?" John asked.

"Being annoyed by Lestrade. How much longer do I have to stay?" Sherlock asked, hoping he'd put in enough time at the excruciating event.

Mary spoke up. "Oh for God's sake, Sherlock. You've only been here thirty minutes. Have you even spoken to Molly yet?"

"Is that a requirement?"

John, Mary and Mike groaned in unison.

"Did you get her a gift like I told you to?" John asked.

"I'm not an idiot, John. Of course I did. I renewed her subscription to Pathology Monthly."

John narrowed his eyes and nodded his head. "She saves your life and you order her a medical journal?"

"No, I _renewed_ her current subscription. Are you having trouble with your hearing? It _is_ quite loud in here."

"His point, you poor clueless child," Mary said, stepping closer and gripping his shoulders. "Is that, perhaps Molly would like something a bit more personal... from you." She ended with a wink.

 _What the hell? Were they handing out MDNA at the door? What is wrong with everyone tonight?_ "No, she wouldn't! She won't expect anything from me! So getting a subscription to an important periodical will impress her. Trust me!"

Mary released him, shaking her head, then picked up her drink. "Mike, want to take a stab?"

Mike sighed and smiled at Sherlock. "Listen, I think what everyone's trying to say is that Molly's quite fond of you, Sherlock."

The detective laughed. "That's putting it mildly."

The other three exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"Riiight... so wouldn't tonight have been a nice time to, ah," He paused and thought for a moment. "Show her how _you_ feel?"

"Oh, for God's sake! You too?" Sherlock shouted, causing half the pub to turn and look.

Mary put a hand on his arm. "Calm down Sherlock. Don't get your deductions in a bunch. We _all_ know. We think it's great. But if you don't do something soon, she'll be off the market." She motioned to the group surrounding the small woman. "I heard that Patrick..."

"I know all about the ginger," Sherlock interrupted, jerking out of Mary's hold. "And furthermore, I don't care!"

Mary got a very smug look on her face. "Protesting a bit too much. Might want to dial that back just a touch."

Sherlock turned with every intention of leaving these people and their inane assumptions. However, he ran right into the Birthday Girl herself.

"Oof!" she said, her arms coming up to hold onto Sherlock's jacket to keep her balance.

Sherlock automatically grabbed her around the waist to steady her. "Molly. Are you okay?"

She giggled. "I was just coming to ask you the same thing." She released his lapels, but he didn't let go of her. "I heard you shouting. I know you hate parties." She leaned in slightly. "You don't have to stay, you know." She smiled sweetly. "It was kind of you to come at all."

She started to step back, but Sherlock pulled her closer. He could feel her tiny waist through the _sexy little dress_ she was wearing. She was warm, so very warm and smelled of cherry blossoms and vanilla. "I wanted to come." Oh, was that his resolve breaking...

"Ah, well I'm glad." Her hands landed back onto his chest, after hovering for a moment. "Thank you."

Sherlock nodded, not really sure how to respond, mostly because it was a lie, wasn't it? John had practically forced him to come... didn't he? _No, no he didn't. I_ did _want to come. I wanted to see Molly. Wanted to see her outside of Barts... outside of the lab and the morgue... out of that damn lab coat. OH... of course..._ He suddenly felt like he should tell her... something. How beautiful she looked. How flattering her dress was. How lovely her hair smelled. However...

"Are you going out with that ginger police officer?" was what came out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry?"

"Patrick, everyone keeps telling me that he's... that he fancies you." His suddenly dry mouth felt like it was failing him. "Are you going out with him?"

"Um, I don't know. If he asks... I suppose..." Her hands dropped to her sides as she looked down.

Sherlock knew he should release her, let her go back to her party. She was clearly uncomfortable, he could read it in her body language. But his arms wouldn't allow it. "Don't."

She looked back up. "Don't... what?"

"Don't go out with him."

"Why, what's wrong with him?" she asked, looking up at him with those impossibly large eyes.

He knew it had to be the lights, because it was impossible to actually see one's own reflection in someone's eyes. But for a split second he thought he caught himself in Molly Hooper's. It was enough to push his already over-stimulated mind, over the edge. _He's not me,_ he thought. He heard the gasp escape Molly's mouth, which told him he'd actually spoken the words aloud. But it all seemed so surreal. As did the feeling of him lowering down and capturing her lips in his. Then suddenly everything felt very much real. He felt Molly whimper. He felt her hands sliding up his chest. He felt both of her hands gripping his hair. That's when he deepened the kiss, nipping at her lower lip. _Not small, not the least bit small._ He slid his tongue into her warm, welcoming mouth, finding hers instantly. She tasted of cranberry juice and a hint of alcohol. After a few moments of the utter delight that was Molly Hooper's mouth, they had to break in order to breathe. He'd never found breathing more boring than at that very moment.

Sherlock pulled back, taking a good look at the woman in his arms. Her eyes were still closed, her cheeks flushed, she was licking her lips. Once again, he knew he needed to say something... _oh damn, where did John go? What should I say? Mind palace, I'll use my mind palace- Wait, I've got nothing on romantic sentiment stored, well, except what I used to manipulate Janine... that won't do_.

While Sherlock was freaking out, Molly had opened her eyes and was staring up at him. "Sh-Sherlock?"

Hearing Molly speak only increased Sherlock's anxiety, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I got you a horrible gift."

Molly furrowed her brow. "Oh, was it that kiss, because that was lovely."

"It was?" Sherlock said with a smile.

"Well, I-I thought it was," she said.

It finally occurred to Sherlock that they were still in an embrace. "Oh yes, of course it was. I found it... pleasant." _Or more like magnificent. Why didn't I say that?_

Molly nodded and slowly backed away from him, looking around the room. This time he removed his hands from her hips. "Well, like I said, thanks for coming." She bit her lip, clearly waiting for him to respond.

 _Oh bugger, now what?_ he thought. He needed to get her to stay until he could figure out how to talk to her. "Molly, um, my gift. Ah, I got you..." Then he had an idea. Of course he had an idea, he's brilliant, how had he ever doubted himself? "I'd like to take you to dinner. Anywhere you want to go." He gave her a bright grin.

"Well... that's nice. That's not a horrible gift, why would you think that's horrible?"

"Oh, well... J-John! He thought I should have it all planned out." He rolled his eyes. "But since it's your birthday, I thought you should choose."

She smiled and looked at her hands. "Can't you just deduce where I'd want to go?"

He moved closer once again so he could whisper in her ear. "I could, but I was hoping you'd surprise me Molly Hooper. You are one of the few in this world with the ability to do so."

She bit her lip again as she nodded.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"I can't leave, Sherlock. This is my birthday party."

They both looked up and noticed that everyone was still grouped off, casting them furtive glances.

"Yes, it's _your_ party, Molly. You can do whatever you like," Sherlock said hoping he could persuade her to leave.

Molly looked round the room. "Well... I suppose..."

Mary Watson who was standing closest to the pair, carefully listening to their conversation, casually wandered over. "Hey you two. Might consider taking that somewhere more private." She gave Sherlock another wink.

He bristled. "Yes, I was just suggesting..."

She turned to Molly. "So, I think this is sort of winding down. John and I need to get back to the sitter and I heard some of the others talking about heading home. We can grab your gifts for you since we have our car, if you like."

Molly looked at Sherlock then back to Mary and nodded. "Thanks, I'd appreciate that, Mary."

Mary gave them both a knowing smile, then hugged Molly. Sherlock was certain she whispered something in the pathologist's ear, judging by the shade of red Molly turned as Mary released her. But he didn't have time to worry about that... it was just starting to set in that he had asked Molly Hooper out on a... _date_.

* * *

 _A DATE!_

 _Hope you liked it. Chapter 2 should be up soon. Let me know what you think, please! Thank you so much for reading. ~Lil~_


	2. The Date

_Here's chapter two! Many thanks to MizJoely for betaing this! And thank you all for following and reviewing this little story!_

 _I own nothing, including the bits of lines I borrowed from BBC's Sherlock. (Don't worry, I asked Mark he said it was fine ; ) Enjoy. ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Date**

After an interminable amount of well wishes from of her friends, Molly and Sherlock had finally made their way out of the pub and were walking down the pavement.

 _Now what?_

True, he had faked dating on more than one occasion, but this wasn't fake... this was Molly Hooper. And that kiss _certainly_ wasn't fake. No, that was... _what the hell was that?_ And how had everyone else known before he had? Was it possible that he missed something this big? This, good God, obvious when everyone else seemed to be well aware of it. _Wait!_ He stopped walking and pulled out his mobile.

"What's wrong?" Molly asked.

"What? Oh, nothing. I just need to check something."

He typed out a text.

 **Do I have an unresolved sentimental attachment for Dr. Molly Hooper? And if so how many people are aware of this?**

He looked up at Molly as he waited for the response. "So, do you know where you'd like to eat?" he asked, attempting to pass the time while he waited for a response.

She smiled sweetly and nodded just as the reply pinged. He looked down at the screen.

 **Yes, of course you do. And my intel suggests that you and the lovely Miss Hooper are the only ones to yet acknowledge this fact.- MH**

Sherlock growled.

 **Were you never going to tell me?**

"Is it a case?" Molly inquired.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, it's my brother," he said with a sigh. "Ah... family... issues." A moment later his phone pinged again.

 **I thought, for once, that you should be allowed to come to your own conclusions. Also, Mummy wouldn't allow me to interfere. Although, I do believe she was planning something herself. It involved a locked room and nicotine deprivation.-MH**

Sherlock shoved his mobile back into his pocket. He put his hand on the small of Molly's back. "Shall we?"

They started walking once again. It suddenly dawned on him that he should have perhaps asked Mycroft to get him reservations at the Dorchester or Hibiscus, considering it was Molly's birthday and surely she'd want to celebrate somewhere elegant. Especially since she looked so lovely.

"So, where will we be dining this evening Miss Hooper?"

"Um, do you suppose the chip shop you told me about is still open?"

He stopped walking once again, gaping at her. "You want fish and chips? But Molly, it's your birthday and you look..." He raked his eyes down her body taking in the sapphire blue dress hugging her shapely hips, then flaring out and ending just before her knees. It showed off less cleavage than the one from that awful Christmas, but... _are her breasts larger?_ he wondered. That's when he realised he was staring and hadn't finished his sentence. "It's just that, you're a bit over dressed for a chippy, wouldn't you say?" he finished in a rush.

Molly looked down at herself. "Oh, I didn't... I could run home and change first."

"NO!" he practically shouted. _Get a hold of yourself!_ He took a steadying breath. "It's late and they might be closed by the time... so we should probably hurry." He stepped to the curb and hailed a cab.

* * *

As it turned out, the chip shop was closing by the time they arrived, but Sherlock talked the owner into making them a fresh batch, though they'd have to take it to go.

Sherlock could be a gentleman when he put his mind to it and that meant not letting a beautiful young woman eat greasy chips whilst standing on a street corner. So he suggested taking them back to Baker Street, since it was closer than Molly's flat and no one liked cold, soggy chips. Molly got a curious look on her face, but agreed, nonetheless.

When they arrived, he busied himself clearing off the coffee table and settee so they could eat their dinner.

"Should I make tea?" Molly asked.

"Ah, no. I'll do it." He knew the state of the kitchen was just this side of frightening. Any other time he wouldn't give a thought to Molly seeing such a sight, but suddenly he wanted to impress her. _How did John go through this over and over again?_ he wondered. As he put the kettle on and started to clean some mugs a thought occurred to him. He went back into the sitting room.

"Would you prefer some wine, Molly?"

She looked surprised once again. "You have wine?"

"Well, I wouldn't have offered if I didn't," he snapped.

She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

 _Bugger._ _Right, that was..._ He sighed _. Must remember that this is a date._ "I apologize. Wine?" _This is maddening_.

"That'd be nice, thank you," she replied.

He nodded and went back to the kitchen to find the wine he was _sure_ he had. After a bit of searching he found a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that a client had given him after he'd successfully uncovered the sommelier who'd been filching the restaurant owners most expensive vintages. It had been a slow week.

He returned with the wine and a couple of glasses. "Here we are."

"Thank you, Sherlock. This is... lovely," Molly said as she handed Sherlock his chips.

They set about eating, Molly commenting on how good the food was and that she'd never had such expensive wine before. Sherlock regaled her with the story of the sticky fingered sommelier, dazzling her with his deductions.

They finished the chips and Molly excused herself to the loo while Sherlock cleaned up their mess and poured them each another glass of wine. He sat back down and took a deep breath, trying to decide where he wanted the evening to lead.

It seemed that everyone in England was aware of his evident _feelings_ for Molly Hooper, and now so was he. So, what next? He didn't know how to be in a relationship. Did he want to be in one? Before tonight he would have answered with an unequivocal _no_! But now, now he wasn't so sure. Then a thought struck him. He could ask Molly. She was always so patient with him, so calming and understanding. Mycroft had said that she was also unaware of his feelings, perhaps he should explain and asked what they should do about it. She'd be surprised at first, but then... she'd be her helpful self. He hated being out of his element, but if he was going to allow sentiment into his life, there was no better person than the only woman he'd ever actually trusted, completely.

She wasn't like The Woman. No. To Molly, love wasn't a weapon, it was a gift. And she'd been giving it to him for years, asking nothing in return. Molly wasn't like Janine either. She knew Sherlock, she saw him. Though in fairness to Janine, he had only let her see what he had wanted her to see. But Molly had seen him at his worst. His scathing deductions, his blatant advantage taking, his vulnerable rawness. She'd seen him high, she'd seen him hurtful, she'd seen everything... yet she was still here. _Oh, where is she_ , he thought as he came out of his musings.

He looked around to find Molly seated on the edge of the settee, her bag in hand smiling at him. "What are you doing?"

"I had a lovely time..."

That sounded familiar, and he didn't like it.

"But it's late and I'm sure..." she started.

"Don't go. I need to talk to you."

"Oh, all right." Molly put her bag on the floor by her feet and turned to face him.

Sherlock's mouth felt dry once again. He grabbed his wine and drank half of the glass. "Ah, so we kissed earlier..."

"You kissed me," she interrupted.

Sherlock looked around. "Sure... okay. But it happened, nevertheless. And I, apparently, have f-f-f..."

Molly put her hand on Sherlock's arm. "You can't even say the word," she said with a smile. "You're not ready. It's okay."

Sherlock felt the knot that had been in his stomach most of the evening, tighten even further. "Of course... you know."

"Yeah, I do."

"When?"

Molly looked thoughtful for a moment. "It's hard to explain, really." She picked up her wine and took a drink. "I think it was just something I noticed... gradually."

Suddenly Sherlock was mad, no, furious. It was bad enough everyone thinking they knew him and knew his feelings. Everyone thinking they'd deduced his... his... heart. But Molly was keeping this from him as well? Molly whom he trusted. Molly, dear sweet Molly. She wasn't supposed to keep things from him, especially about...

 _Oh_... The rush of memories flooded his mind as if a dam had broken. His multiple rejections. His manipulations. Hopeful smiles morphing into sad brown eyes. Painted red lips. Disappointment. Hurt.

 _Always... Always..._

... _it's really not your area_ \- _Don't make jokes Molly_ \- … _you've put on three pounds since I last saw you_. - ... _you're mouth's too small without it_. - _But what could I need from you?_ -... _the size of your mouth and breasts_ -

 _Always... Always..._

He suddenly found himself on the other side of the room, near the hearth. Molly was standing by his chair, a sad smile on her face.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. How was I supposed to tell you what was in your own heart?"

Her voice was strong but he heard it starting to break, ever so slightly.

"I would have... I would have hurt you, again."

Molly nodded.

They stood silently, Molly looking down at her hands, Sherlock staring at her, trying to understand how she could still love him after all he'd done to her. Especially now that he knew how it felt. He had to know... he had to ask.

"Why do you love me, Molly?"

She looked up. "Sherlock..."

"Please, I'm trying to understand. Because from my point of view, I've given you no cause."

Sherlock counted as the first six tears fell down Molly's face. They felt like they were searing his chest.

"I just do," she said, barely above a whisper.

He approached her slowly and as he did he felt himself becoming lighter, he felt the knot unfurling. "Then answer me this. What kind of man falls in love with a woman without even realising it?" He was holding her face between his hands by the end of his question.

Molly smiled through her tears and said, "Sherlock Holmes."

He stared into her eyes for the longest of moments. As he did he felt all the years come crashing down upon him. All the hurt, all the fears, all the longing that he hadn't even realised he had been experiencing. He had always loved this woman and had repressed every single moment of it. How? How had his mind done it? Exceptional as it was, he had to consciously move memories or delete them.

Molly, stood patiently waiting for him to speak as he held her.

"There has to be an answer, Molly."

She reached up and took his hands form her face, holding them to her chest. "Not always." She took a deep breath. "You didn't want to feel this, so you didn't. Plain and simple."

"I didn't want a friend, but I have John. I didn't want another mother but I have Mrs Hudson. I certainly didn't want another brother but I have Greg."

Molly laughed. "You remembered his name."

"Of course I remembered his name, I do it to annoy him. Just like I send Mycroft cakes three times a month to ruin his diet."

She laughed even harder.

"Why did my mind fight this even harder than everything else?" he asked, gripping her hands tightly.

"Because it wasn't your big brain fighting this time. It was your enormous heart. It's a precious thing, to give your heart to someone. I know from experience. It feels... blissfully freeing and tortuously painful at the same time."

And there it was. Molly always making everything seem so simple.

 _Alone protects me._

He wasn't talking about friendship when he said that... he was protecting his fragile heart.

He leant forward until his forehead was touching hers. "Forgive me Molly."

She placed her hands on his chest, the slowly brought them up until her fingers play with the hairs on the nape of his neck. "Of course I forgive you, you beautiful idiot, on one condition."

"Name it."

She smiled and even in the dim lights of Baker Street, Molly Hooper seemed to glow. "Kiss me again."

He suddenly felt this sort of giddy anticipation that he couldn't ever remember feeling before. It seemed knowing that he could freely kiss Molly whenever he chose was incredibly empowering. At that moment, he realised, that kissing would never be enough...

* * *

 _Oh, and thank you MrsMCrieff for informing me that NO Chippy would put chips in a styrofoam container. (Sorry, my local pizza shop always puts our 'french fries' in styrofoam. Bloody savages!) Had to put that thanks at the end didn't want to give anything away.!_

 _Hope you enjoyed this little two-shot! Please let me know! ~Lil~_


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